


Stripped

by Notawriterjustalurker



Series: Take your clothes off, slowly [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drinking, F/M, Foggy is an enabler for uncatholic things, Humour, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Smut, Stripping, This is crack, except your mask, kissing and other stuff, matt becomes a stripper, obviously, shhh don’t fight it, take off all your clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26012599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notawriterjustalurker/pseuds/Notawriterjustalurker
Summary: "Sit on your hands for me, Miss Page," he whispered.And oh, she was so going to fucking kill him for this."You think you're funny?" She said, loudly enough for Matt but quietly enough for everyone else. Still, she did as he told her; tucking her fingertips under her thighs and folding her skirt in with them.He grinned wide, ignoring her question — "Good." And despite everything, Karen felt her core light up in anticipation. "No touching. Just watch."— It's all good and well starting a law firm with your best friends...but office equipment is expensive and vigilantism doesn't pay the bills —
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Series: Take your clothes off, slowly [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933702
Comments: 68
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just had an urge to write something stupid 🤷 that's the only explanation you're getting 😂

"So did he tell you?" Karen asked, her voice creeping out from behind the warm glow of her laptop screen.

"Tell me what?"

"About your fan club." 

Matt turned his body towards where Karen was sitting, perched on top of a cardboard box that was acting as a makeshift chair.

"My _what_?"

" _Yeahhh,_ " Karen replied, "'a fanclub.. you know... on the internet."

Matt blinked a few times. "I can confidently say I did not know about that, no." And apparently he'd been a bit naive but it had never occurred to him that the internet could be a place for people to discuss his secret identity. "You mean about — _Daredevil_?"

" _Yep,_ " she answered, with a cough caught behind her twisted lips.

"What are they saying?" 

_"Well..._ " she let the word ring out for a while and tilted her screen back an inch as Matt took a few tentative steps closer — "there's a user here called 69Devi1nsideMe."

"Called _what_? —"

"— I haven't finished," Karen cut him off with a hint of something close to laughter buried deep in her throat.. "she — _or he_ , says, and I quote: 'does anyone happen to know what crime I have to commit to get the Devil of Hell's kitchen to come and beat the crap outta me?'" 

Matt snorted but Karen held up her fingers, "then in brackets _— 'if you know what I mean,'_ followed by... onetwothreefour – _five_ winking emojis."

"Oh." Matt cleared his throat, "that's interesting," he said, realising he was wearing a too-wide smile that he quickly had to pinch down with a not so subtle caress of his fingers over stubble.

"There's more." Karen hinted, "much more" 

"There is?"

 _"Oh yeah_."

He restrained himself, trying his best to pretend like he wasn't anything more than a little intrigued, and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip as curiosity saw his feet picking their way over the crammed floorspace in front of him, weaving through several opened boxes and their sprawled out contents until he reached Karen's tiny corner of recently allocated office space by the window.

Karen was practically rubbing her hands together. "There's another user here. _Very_ active on this account, and uh..." she chuckled, "let's just say their name isn't pre-watershed friendly either.." Matt raised an eyebrow, already a little drunk on the way Karen was speaking, because there was always a cheap kind of thrill in sensing how the blood rose to her too-easily flushed cheeks."...to paraphrase slightly," she continued, " 'God. I just love him. The mystery. The power. Protecting all those innocent people.. he just looks _so good_ , " Karen broke rhythm then and clamped her hand over her mouth, barely managing to contain the snorting sound that encapsulated itself within her palm.

"What's wrong with that?" Matt shrugged, "it's nice. That's... nice."

"No wait, I'm not," she inhaled and steadied herself, " _then_ they say.. 'Daredevil can put his _horn_ anywh—"

"— _Ohhhkay. Okay_ Karen I get it —" Matt held up a hand in stopping motion. _"I get it._ I have a fan club."

"You do." She said, and Matt couldn't help but notice an unfamiliar tingle surging over his skin that made him puff out his cheeks and blow a stream of air out from between his lips that didn't really seem to aid in cooling him down any.

" _Matthew Murdock_ ," Karen scorned him with a tone that made freeze in place," are you... _blushing_?"

"What — No. _No._ I'm — "

But Karen had already sucked in her bottom lip seductively, letting out an adorable giggling sound that despite being almost entirely at his expense was still one of his favourite sounds on earth. "How do you feel about it?" She asked, "it's kinda weird huh?"

"Its.. yeah... I don't quite know."

Karen sighed. "While you're here you may as well know that the black suit ranks higher than the Red suit."

" _Ranks_?" Matt frowned, astounded.

"Yeah. There's a poll. Here." She outstretched her finger and pointlessly tapped her nail on the screen that he couldn't see.

"A… a poll?"

"Yep."

Matt ran his hands through his hair… "What's so special about the black suit?"

"Well uh...I couldn't say," she murmured, her heart resonating a tempestuous song of _lies_ against her chest that only went towards broadening his smile.

"Maybe you should vote," Matt teased, feeling the way her hair whipped up the smell of lavender as her head snapped round to face where his back was now turned and headed for the door.

"Maybe I will." She clicked the mouse button.

"Which one did you pick?"

"Not telling."

Matt huffed out a noise of pretend annoyance.

 _"Black,"_ he whispered to himself.

  
  


* * *

"That woman is out of control! A loose cannon!" Foggy flailed his arms and dumped himself into the leather hollow of Matt's couch. "I warned her not to," he ranted, "this whole napkin thing is a mistake."

Matt shook his head and shot Foggy a glare that would have been as sharp as a dagger if only it hadn't been directed aimlessly at the ceiling. "You told her not to tell me? Why?"

"Because! Matt! Your head's big enough as it is without you knowing that half of Manhattan wants you to…. _you know_."

"To what?"

"You're not gonna make me say it."

"Good. Cause I don't know what you're talking about. And I don't have an ego."

Foggy blew air through his lips and it made a _'pfft'_ sound, but Matt was pretty sure he was smiling too. He popped the cap off a beer with his thumb and it landed perfectly inside a glass that was sat a few feet away on the coffee table.

"See." Foggy said, "that's the crap I'm talking about." He leaned forward and snatched the bottle from his hand, "I'm taking this as punishment."

And Matt sighed stiffly, "I love business meetings," and he paced himself around in a tiny circle that led him straight back to where he started, floating somewhere between Foggy and the fridge and the three remaining bottles of cheap beer with his name on.

"What were we supposed to be doing again?" Foggy asked as he slouched back.

"Money…." Matt sighed again, "lack of money. Something like that."

"Ah yes!" Foggy exclaimed, "money! We have none! Zero, zilch, not a dime! I knew there was something."

Matt gave up and opened the fridge. He took a long swig from the bottle before he considered moving.

This bickering wasn't helping anyone. And Matt had too many other things on his mind. Fisk's recent reimprisonment and the subsequent clear out of over half of New York's finest meant that night shifts lately had been quiet, which meant he had time.

Time to think.

And at the forefront of all the mess — always and forever at the forefront of it all — was Karen. 

He owed her for the rent, he owed her for putting up with his bullshit, for handing his sorry ass back to him and for holding on to that last little thread of his dignity, his integrity, when he'd been so tempted to see it snap along with Wilson Fisk's neck.

And now they were starting up a law firm, based on the astute contractual agreements of a napkin; with no money and zero clients, working above a butchers shop that probably had less square footage than Matt's bathroom. And everything smelt of ham. Everything. Karen smelt of ham. Foggy smelt of ham. Matt was pretty sure now that he was never going to recover and it was possible the smell of meat was going to be a permanent fixture in his nostrils.

It really was no place for a man with a sensitive nose. 

So on his list of things to do, including the dutiful necessity of continuing to protect the people of Hell's Kitchen — was to pay back Karen (to literally pay back Karen, with actual money). To make it up to Karen — the rest of the way, to make Foggy feel like leaving his high-flying job to start a napkin-law firm wasn't the worst mistake he'd ever made, and finally — to move out of Nelson's Meats, preferably before they even moved into it. 

"I have an idea." Matt proposed.

"Oh no."

"We need money."

"Yes."

"Then I should get a job. Another job."

Foggy cackled into the neck of his beer bottle and it made a hollow whistling sound — "like a paper round or something? Or are you gonna start doing hits for the Mafia?"

Matt took a long pause."I was thinking more something that pays well."

"The Mafia pays well I think…"

"Too much murder, "Matt countered while he tugged at his tie until it came loose.

"Well if you know something I don't then spill it buddy because Marci isn't a cheap woman to live with."

"No, listen," Matt interupted, "remember that case you took a while ago. Defamation of character, subsequent financial loss, got her a nice settlement — Ms P. I think she went by. Stage name I think though."

"Ms P? Who owns the strip club downtown Mrs P? Yeah I remember her. How could I not?" Matt heard Foggy sigh wishfully, " _God_ she was smokin'. You know what? I hope she's having a great day."

"I'm sure she is. Anyway, do you think she's taking job applications?" 

Foggy froze for a second and then inhaled _violently_ , mid-mouthful of beer — which was, in fairness, poor timing on Matt's part — and Matt heard the fizzy liquid hit the back of his throat and disappear somewhere where he knew it shouldn't go. It exited moments later, streams pouring from his nose and onto his shirt and all over Matt's living room rug that admittedly, had probably seen much worse stains in the course of its short life. "You're _not_ —" Foggy coughed and spluttered and Matt waited, his feet planted just a few meters away — "you can't be…"

"I am." 

Foggy broke out into renewed bout of hysterical laughter, and hysterical was really no exaggeration because if Matt was a betting man he'd have said he was just a few more chest convulsions shy of passing out. "You're a vilanate!" He bellowed, the air salty with the tears that were streaming down his cheeks, "you're blind!" His head fell back and he choked as his neck bent a little too far over the couch. "You can't!"

"A thousand dollars for the weekend," Matt said matter of factly, "it could work."

"A stripper. A stripper!" Foggy weezed, "pass me the —" his hand reached out and he wordlessly gestured towards the bottle of whiskey that still sat unopened on the coffee table.

"I feel like you're not taking this idea seriously at all," Matt said flatly, swinging the bottle into his grasp. Foggy gulped down a generous mouthful managing to keep it mostly contained within the confines of his mouth this time.

"This whiskey sure tastes pretty real. Did Marci set you up to this? Is this a trap to see if I'll agree to visit a strip club? I've already told her I'm not having any at the bachelor party."

Matt huffed, "look, I've thought it through. I can just play myself. Wear the mask, never show my identity, it'll just be part of the act — waiter some drinks, maybe show a little something...you know. For the ladies...Couple of weeks and we can finally get our own office. Start what we always said we would. With you, with Karen. For real this time."

"Holy shit," Foggy's mouth gaped "you're not joking."

Matt shrugged. 

"You're actually... _not joking_ , he stood up suddenly, "this is because of that fanclub thing isn't it? I knew it would get to you." 

"Foggy."

Matt felt him coming towards him and in a moment Foggy's hands were wrapped around his body, squeezing his shirt into little bunches and dragging it untucked. "What are you doin— "

"I'm checking you're not wearing a wire."

"Really?" He was pushing his shirt up into his armpits now, and stupidly Matt was helping him by holding up his arms. "Find anything?"

Foggy stood back and Matt felt him take a good long look at the plane of his exposed stomach. "Well," he said defeatedly, "you've got the body for it."

"So you've told me," Matt smirked.

"What about these?" Foggy prodded the strip of scar tissue that crossed the muscle just above his hip.

"Make up? Fake blood?" 

Foggy squeezed his lips together and nodded. "And can you dance?" He quirked his eyebrow, "like… sexy?"

Matt's lips curled upwards and he felt a strange urge to move his hips but at the last moment he restrained himself. "How hard can it be?"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protip: don't start writing crack fic when you've had a few alcoholic beverages. Me and this crack fic got married in Vegas and now we're stuck with eachother 🤷

_Nothing_ was more indicative of a triumphantly normal return to normality than the ever so slight suspicion that Matt Murdock was up to something. 

It was so painfully familiar to Karen that there was actually something of a nostalgia to it. And like a stone stuck in her shoe that had wedged itself somewhere between her toes — it was small enough to put up with for the time being because she was far too busy living to stop and untie her laces.

Perhaps that's why she was here; at Marci and Foggy's apartment, drinking expensive wine, (which she never really cared much for) with her legs all tucked under herself on the couch and a fluffy white cushion over her lap as armour. It was a distraction, at least. Or even if it wasn't, there was always a chance Marci would let something slip that would go a ways towards answering her burning questions; even if so far, all she'd managed to feel was guilt —

Foggy had taken a considerable paycut in order to start their new venture which had included the addition of her name — and sure, it was a passion project, or now, anyway. But it was one that Karen believed in her heart would work out for the best in the end.

"Enough about me," Marci said, handing her a bowl filled with low calorie porncorn which Karen mindlessly dipped her hand into. "Have you heard the rumours?" 

Karen had been watching her wine gently swirl around her glass for sometime, tapping a reverberant and thoughtless tune against the stem with her nails. Now there was a porncorn kernel jammed between one of her back teeth and her tongue was too busy there for her to bother rushing in answer. "Rumours?" She responded sluggishly, finally freeing the kernel with the nail of her pinky finger.

"..Hell's Kitchen has a hero-themed stripper show or something.." she said, and Karen could have sworn she'd misheard her.

"A what?"

"We should go," Marci grinned, too excited to acknowledge Karen's need for clarification. 

"Hold on a minute. Go to... A strip club? And it's _what_ themed —"

"Oh honey…" Marci's eyebrows formed an upside down v on her face. There was something endearing but yet still horribly patronising about it. "It's not like what you'd think, I mean, lots of women visit adult clubs now. They're all about inclusivity, you know?" She took a not so graceful gulp from her wine glass, "...and a woman has needs too." 

Karen closed her mouth which had been hanging open for at least the last half of that sentence. "I didn't mean that. I've been to a strip club before Marci."

"Oh. Sorry. Small town and all that. I thought maybe.."

"What's the theme?" Karen asked again and Marci rolled a small handful of porncorn into her mouth and spoke through the resulting crack in her lips. 

"Like normal strippers except themed around all these heros that keep popping up. Daredevil, Luke Cage. And whos that other guy… the fisty one?"

"Iron Fist?"

"Yeah, him." 

"And they strip… as in… take their clothes off?" Karen asked stupidly — knowing exactly what it was strippers were generally known for. "That seems a little..."

"Yeah, they take their clothes off.. but like, in a sexy way," she teased, and Karen snorted. "Plus I read it online, so you know, it must be true." Marci quirked an eyebrow and held her phone in front of her face, scrolling downwards. "So.. what do you think? Shall we go?"

Karen had only been a tongue movement away from asking if there were any pictures of said stripper dressed as her truly beloved vigilante, because after all, it had to be _convincing_ if it was going to be worth her time. But it was in that moment that the front door swung open and Foggy provided a convenient distraction, scurrying through like a teenager returning the morning after a night of partying.

"Foggy Bear! Look at this!"

"Hold that thought my sweet!" He said, cutting her off without looking, "shower first and then — _oh_ . _Karen_. You're — you're here! Of course you are. With wine and… girly things! Okay...Erm.." he went on, stuttering and flustered. She would have said it was like watching a rabbit caught in the headlights, but if she was being honest it was much more like catching a affectionately overweight racoon rummaging somewhere it shouldn't be — she remembered chasing many of them away from behind the diner back in Vermont with a broomstick or a mop. But she'd save the Foggy the indignity of that at least.

"Hi Foggy." 

"Why are you wearing that _thing_?" Marci made a face of mild disgust. 

"That _thing_?" Foggy returned an expression that would haven't felt out of place at the local AmDram. "It's my Columbia law hoodie. It's a relic. A token of a golden age!" 

"Yes.." she said, unconvinced, "and since when did you wear that... in public?"

Foggy looked down, a little disheartened at the scruffy, and by the looks of it — a little too tight, black hoodie with its Columbia Law University logo flaking and cracking on his chest. "It's the price of fame." Foggy said, deadpan, "a _disguise_."

Karen giggled and Marci frowned. "You're not famous."

"I might be." 

"It's for a case isn't it?" Marci rolled her eyes. "You three are always up to your neck in something. What are you undercover now?"

Now Karen was frowning suspiciously. "Is it for a case, Foggy?" 

No!" He exclaimed, "I mean — yes!" He ran his hand through his hair, "look. I can't explain right now. I'm just gonna —" he crab-walked sideways towards the bathroom. "Go in here…." 

"That thing won't last another wash cycle!" Marci said with a look of planning and _malice._ And Karen tried to laugh, but she couldn't. Her mind was too consumed by the fact there was definitely — _certainly_ , something odd going on with Foggy too.

* * *

It was late afternoon on a Saturday and Karen knew it was going to be hard to justify the journey here. She'd already bragged several times to Matt about her plans to do absolutely nothing today. But her questions had only been amplified by Foggy's frankly bizarre behaviour, and being forthright with the truth, in Karen's mind, was as much a part of their contractual agreement as the damn napkin that had started this whole thing.

So if Foggy was lying to her too — well, it had to be something bad, right? 

When Matt opened the door he seemed surprised to find her standing there, which of course was peculiar in itself.

"Something's going on with Foggy." She said flatly before she could get distracted by just how good he always managed to look, slumming it on a Saturday evening in his low-effort lounge wear.

"Come in," he said, and she followed him, only because it did feel a little formal, them standing and talking at the door. "What's happened Karen?"

"He's hiding something." She said.

And Matt made a not very convincing hmm sound. "Maybe he's just… stressed?" He suggested, reuniting himself with the beer on the coffee table.

"No. That's not it." Karen paced a few steps before dumping her bag on Matt's kitchen table. "And you're not going to _believe_ what Marci tried to rope me into." She let a snorting sound at the thought of trying to explain to Matt how there was now an x-rated version of himself roaming the stages of Hell's kitchen.

"Alcohol involved?" He asked, a little rudely.

"Well…" she paused, " _yes_. But...there's apparently erm. You're going to laugh..." she twiddled her fingers together as Matt urged her to take a seat on the couch next to him. "...a strip show?..." She tried to make herself sound sceptical, offended, even. "... about you. About… Daredevil to be exact."

Matt's beer froze half tipped up to his lips. "Really? That's…"

"— Ridiculous right?" She agreed, sinking into leather.

"Uh..yeah.. ridiculous."

"I wonder who's playing you," she jested, regretting it the instant the words left her mouth, feeling that she'd more than likely just implied her enthusiasm for half naked men in masks.

"If he's any good you'll never know," Matt flashed her a cheeky smile which he then did his best to disguise by scratching his head. She nearly had something to say about it but he was talking again before she had the chance. "Listen, Karen. About Foggy. It's not what you think. Actually, there's something I want to give you." Karen watched him get up, her eyes quickly averting to the floor as the curve of his buttocks passed her at eye level. He rummaged about in the bedroom for a minute or two and came back out with an envelope. "For you." 

Her frown only deepened when she peered inside it. "... what's this?"

"For the rent." 

"I don't understand." 

He sat back down, closer this time. "You juggled two rents when I was — you know." Karen felt a bitter jolt zing through her body at the memory — "And I owe you, Karen. I owe you for a lot of things. But I'll start with this" He nodded towards the open envelope, full to the brim with 20 dollar bills.

Karen sighed, "Matt... you don't _owe_ me. That's not how this works." She saw his expression warp into something puppyish and confused and maybe even a little sad. "You remember when we started all this? How we were going to move forward, right? _Together._ That's what we said."

"Right." Matt slowly blinked in answer, drawing her attention to the way the honeyed colour of his eyes caught the last of the remaining daylight from the window.

" _So…_ " she lingered, half hoping he would explain what she meant for her, "Nelson Murdock and _Page_ needs this more than I do. Don't you think?" 

Matt seemed surprised. "I guess.. it's just. Karen..." he laid what she supposed was intended as a platonic handhold softly over the joint of her wrist, but she found her eyes half closing as the warmth of it bled pleasantly into her skin.

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"We can't change the past, Matt. But.. we can do something about the future… right?" 

He blinked again and Karen thought she could practically see the cogs turning in between his ears. "So I can't take this," she folded the envelope closed and placed it on his lap. "I don't want it. But thank you. For thinking of me," she leaned in despite her nerves, with the intention of planting an appreciative peck on his cheek, but like a scene out of an awkward romcom he flinched and it consequently landed just a fraction closer to his lips than planned. 

"Sorry," they both stuttered.

"That was my fault," Matt said.

"No It's fine. I —"

And it was impossible not to stare now. She'd gotten too close. It was a forced reminder of exactly why she'd spent so much time thinking about that mouth of his. The way they were sitting meant that Matt's knee was touching hers and when his smile relaxed she took notice of the small details of his face; how the creases lessened around his eyes and the soft 'm' shape of his upper lip pulled forward, reflecting the light from window in all its plump and perfectly shaped glory.

Breathe Karen. _Breathe_ , she thought.

"I should erm... I should probably go."

"Yeah. Okay sure." 

"Okay."

" _Okay_. I'll um.."

She led herself to the door and faltered for a second over the threshold, turning back to find Matt a scant inch or two from her body, the air thick with yet another few hundred words she supposed she'd have to add to her endless list of _things left unsaid_.

"Have a good night, Matt." She spoke reluctantly, finding it met with silence.

It was never easy reading what it was that Matt wanted. So much of a person's intention is told through the eyes. With him, there were no lingering looks; no catching him glancing down her shirt or feeling his eyes on her when her back was turned. But there was one thing. 

He always smiled before he kissed her. Everytime.

She'd spent longer than she cared to admit analysing why she supposed that was, and she'd come to the conclusion that Matt just wasn't a very good liar. He was just like any other human, and when the air was filled with electricity, and the taste and smell of lust and desire and _want —_ it always, always showed in his face.

This time was no different. His top lip melted away; outshone by the glint of his teeth and the pull of his cheeks and the next thing Karen knew he was kissing her. Slow and gentle, with a hand through her hair, and an arm wrapped around her waist, his lips buttery soft and _commanding;_ enough to erase a year's worth of agony and a lifetime's worth of _what if's._

"Don't go," his voice was laced with a gentle pleading and she thought how nice — no, how _hot_ it was that it wasn't coming from her for once. "I'm sorry about the money," he breathed, "I thought, maybe I was doing the right —"

" _–maybe…_ " she said temptingly, "it'll be easier…if we talk about this... _After_." Karen looked up at him through her lashes while dipping her hand under his shirt and he sunk his teeth into his lip.

Apparently the exploritive tip of Matt's tongue knew _no_ bounds. It skimmed her bottom lip and the inside edge of her teeth and she let hers glide over it in return, savouring the addictive taste of his mouth.

Now she really needed to be somewhere comfier, preferably the couch or the bed. She urged him to follow her there with a tug of his t-shirt which he graciously removed for her a moment or two later. And they landed in a pile, the way no one should ever sit on a couch, her calves stretched over the arm, pillows and cushions only getting in their way now that Matt had gotten himself half way between her legs.

"...touch me Matt." And he touched her, a brief movement of his hand brushing over the outside of her underwear. "Oh — _fuck._ " 

He half groaned, half _chuckled_ into the little nook just behind her ear, soaking in the sounds of her neediness, his stubble burning at her collar bone, his other hand palming her breasts through her dress. He slid downwards and landed with an unexpectedly loud thud on the hard floor, pushing her knees apart and putting his mouth to work on her inner thighs; biting and kissing with messy and desperate movements that she hoped he was about to replicate somewhere else —

"Karen — " he hummed, filtering her dress away and positioning her hips in front of him. She didn't want him to rush. No — she wanted him to take his damn, sweet time. Relishing her pleasure, because she wasn't ashamed to admit it — it was least she deserved. But there was an urgency to all this that she just couldn't ignore. The two of them were blessed, just as much with boundless and unconditional love as they were cursed, with the tragically inconvenient habit of _bad_ _timing_.

Matt's head twitched and his mouth came away from the crease in her thigh and Karen felt a whining sound creep out of her throat greedily. "No.. don't you dare tell me —"

"It's Foggy." He said, gritting his teeth and sighing close enough that she could feel the warmth of breath against the outside of her underwear. 

This absolutely could not be happening.

"I'll get rid of him. Just — damnit. _Karen_." He gave her a hungry expression that turned into something pained as he ran his hands over her thighs one more time. "Stay right there." 

"Yes."

"Don't you move. You promise me."

"I promise," she breathed. Matt rose to his feet and Karen found herself considering for a moment whether murder in the first degree was worth the jail time in this instance, or if maybe she'd just slip salt instead of sugar into his coffee next time she saw him — a fair punishment for denying her the impressively large buldge that had taken form in the front of Matt's pants.

She sighed. Fixed her dress, crossed her arms and waited. 

"I've blown it Matt. We've got to tell her.." were the first words she heard come out of Foggy's mouth through the smallish crack in the open door.

"Kinda _busy_ right now Foggy… Can we..uh. Do this later?"

"I don't wanna meet that side of her, Matt. I'm not comfortable. You know the females of some species actually _eat their mates,_ right?" Karen's ears were burning now as she heard a scuffling commotion in the hall. "Wait.." Foggy said, "why do you look _disheveled_?"

Karen peered her head around the dividing wall just in time to see Matt drive the heel of his palm into his eye socket. "Are you guys talking about me?"

Foggy startled with all the grace and elegance of a fat racoon caught in a garbage can. "Shit."

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like a nonsensical mattkarenfoggy sandwich 🥪

"Show me," she said.

He froze on the spot with his hands spread either side of his hips.

He couldn't just — no. _Ridiculous,_ Matt thought. Of course Karen was always asking him to prove things — 'show me you've changed' — 'show me you're not Daredevil' — 'show me you _are_ Daredevil' — but this... 

This was different. Because there was no dignified way he could show Karen what it was he was really getting up to on a Saturday and Sunday night without making himself look like an absolute laughing stock; and without music, without a crowd, and with no promise of money as reward for the humiliation of it all, there was just Karen, standing there in his hallway begrudgingly, her cheeks still flushed with the remnants of their rudely interrupted tryst, her arms crossed and slack in front of her as she rocked slightly onto one hip.

"I can't just — _show you_."

"Then why should I believe anything you're saying?"

"It's a context thing," Foggy interjected lightly.

And Matt agreed with wholehearted relief. "Yeah it's a performance. An act. I can't just... _do it anywhere."_

Karen scoffed and Matt was almost sure that it wasn't anger – if he were to guess (and he wasn't going to) he'd say it might have even sounded a little bit like disappointment.

"Fine," she said, turning towards the door.

"But he is very good!" And of course Foggy would say that, in a situation where yet again, Matt's lies had landed him ass up with his face in the dirt. Like she gave a damn about how good he was.

Worse still, was the way Matt could sense Foggy flailing his hands in a way that did nothing to hide his nerves; pretty sure now that they were broadly gesturing towards the curve of his buttocks which was well within his view from where he was standing. He synchronised the wiggling of his eyebrows and his fingertips and lowered his voice to a suggestive purr — "if I'm honest it's actually a little _freaky_ how good he is." And Karen _blushed_ … again. A blush on top of blush; as clear and as sure as the beat of the city outside his window. Her heartbeat still raced too _._ She closed her arms tighter over her chest in protest, as if it would somehow make a difference. 

"You know this means you lied to me. Right?" She paused, Matt suspected, for dramatic effect, " _again_ ?" Then she swung around to direct her scorn at Foggy too. "And not just Matt. I mean at this point I just expect it from him. But _you_?" 

He really didn't enjoy listening to Foggy meet the knife-sharp edge of Karen's words. She had a habit of stringing things together in a way that really left a mark. And it always stung.

"It was all my idea," Matt said, closing the gap between them with light steps and a good amount of caution.

"How does it work?" She asked sharply, shaking her head in confusion. "I mean...your face — the mask.."

"We made him an alter ego." Foggy's voice was too quick and too honest in answer. " _Another one_ ," he added, stifling a chuckle as Matt let his eyes wain towards the ceiling.

"A stage name?" 

Foggy nodded and Karen's eyebrows darted upwards into her hairline, her tongue pressed firm against the back of her teeth, her lungs filling and braced and trembling with the inevitable question —

"Mike," Matt said, sighing and giving up.

"Mike?... Just.." she shook her hands," .... _Mike?"_ Matt stood stock still trying to suppress the rising panic in his chest. He imagined this was probably how ants felt, held hostage under the wim of magnifying glass wielding madman — he thought about making an instinctual break for the roof access door, to somewhere where the air was suffocatingly hot. But he promptly stamped out that guilt ridden and cowardly idea — not least because he wasn't worthy of such an easy way out. "So everyone thinks you're what? Some kind of tribute act?" Karen continued, "when actually you're the real Daredevil?" Matts shoulders slumped and then attempted to lift into a defeated shrug. "Pretty elaborate, this plan of yours then?" The tone of her voice told Matt that it wasn't a question.

"Oh we're careful. No one knows anything," Foggy said and she huffed out a thread-bare laugh, void of any and all humour, existing only for the purpose of making them feel both guilty and stupid. " _Evidently_ ," she said, grabbing her coat and bag from where she'd left it draped over the edge of the table. "I'm done with this." 

But Matt caught her hand just as it moved to wrap around the handle of the front door and she stopped motionless as he got his body in close enough to raise hairs on her arms. "Karen.. ." he pleaded, biting his lip in frustration, thinking about how in a alternate world, he'd probably be in several inches deep in heaven right now, or better, they'd already be spent and he'd be stroking his fingers through the soft, silky lavender sea of her hair while she rested against his chest and they'd be sorting all this mess out, one mind-blowing orgasm at a time.

It was a nice thought. 

"I'm sorry," he said, "don't give me another chance because I deserve it Karen...I don't. I never will. But you can give me one because you want it…" He let his hand trail selfishly up along the milky soft runway of her arm, over the crest of her shoulder and she sighed as it nestled back behind her ear where it belonged. "Tell me you don't want _this..._ " He breathed, and he didn't even care that Foggy was watching, he lifted her chin to meet his lips and pressed, tempting her to let him in with the eager tip of his tongue. Everything about it already felt so right – just being able to kiss her again, like now that he'd finally been reminded of the taste, he realised he was starving. 

For a second or two she didn't resist. Time stopped still and for a brief moment he made her forget that they were even fighting at all. She let her weight sink into him until her palms rested against his bare chest before she finally pulled reluctantly away.

"No. Matt," she whispered. "I don't."

Then she drifted apart from him, slowly at first, and then quickly, and before he knew it she was gone, her presence disappearing down the stairwell and further out of his reach than ever.

Matt heard Foggy take in a hiss of breath and he mouthed the word _'ouch'._ It seemed to feel entirely appropriate.

"So uh…" he pointed towards the door where Karen had just exited. "....you two are on face touching terms now? That's progress, right?"

"We're not on anything terms Foggy. Not anymore." Matt sighed and flinched as the still-hot skin of his back made contact with the cool wood of the chair. "None of it matters now. I lied to her. She's probably never going to speak to me again." 

"Are you kidding?" Foggy erupted out of silence and Matt felt the tension in the room immediately disappear. "She'll be thinking about those Murdock moves all night! Damn it, even I'll be thinking about them." He made an overly perverse kissing sound, "plus, you two have been in here together for how long? And no offense but this place practically reeks of pheromones.. and I don't even have a superhero schnozzle!" He sniffed at the air. "Wait. Can I smell rubber?" 

After a moment Matt grinned. "Foggy… that's..."

"Anyway," He added, "... _technically..._ we _both_ lied. Doesn't that make you feel better? We can share the guilt!"

"No. Foggy. That doesn't make me feel any better. But erm… thanks?"

He ducked his head under the strap of his satchel and dumped it on the table where Karen's had been just moments before. Matt tilted his head towards the bag and changed the subject. "Something new for tonight?" He knew it was heavier than usual. Inside there was something small and glass, filled with liquid, along with an array of other stuff he'd gotten far too used to; powders, brushes and various forms of what Matt assumed were eyeshadows ranging from red to purple to black. 

"Marci's $60 coverup-your-life's-failures concealer," he replied. 

Matt chuckled and opened his mouth to speak but Foggy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I know what you're going to say buddy. How big's the bottle, right?"

Matt's shoulders slumped and then lifted as he took in air and laughed, a friendly, comforting warmth spreading through his body. "Work your magic," Matt said, leaning back to let Foggy get access to the thick scar on his left upper chest as he whipped out a makeup bag with voracious enthusiasm.

"Spoken like a true Catholic vigilante-stripper!" And carefully, he dabbed the sponge into the chemically smelling liquid that he'd dripped onto the back of his hand, his breathing telling Matt that he was already slipping into a state of concentration. The smell wasn't unpleasant, although it did remind him of Marci, perfumed with something that Matt suspected was supposed to be peaches but that smelled absolutely nothing like actual peaches. He began tenderly sponging the scar tissue and the surrounding skin, taking care not to apply too much, too quickly, unlike last time, when there had barely been a corner of Matt's apartment that had been left untouched by the resulting sticky flesh coloured finger prints.

"You've been practicing." Matt raised a brow while keeping still. 

"YouTube," he said softly, "I guess I figured..if this whole law thing…" he stepped back to admire his handy work from a distance before coming in close again…"doesn't work out. I can always…"

Matt burst into laughter and Foggy shot him an expression of scorn that immediately made him feel bad for moving. 

"Sorry."

They sat there for a few minutes while Foggy worked in silence, dabbing and sponging and blending, then dusting with powder to set before moving into the next mark on his skin. Matt wondered if he remembered them when they were fresh as much as he did, because as much as each one of them represented one of his life's many moments of agony, he also found himself occasionally running his fingers over the tracks of them with fondness; a reminder of friendship that he didn't quite know how to ever repay — not that repaying friendships was what you were meant to do — Karen had just taught him that lesson. But he found that the deliberately gentle attention Foggy was paying to his skin and the slow, quiet way he always breathed when he was focusing on something to be enough to put him into some sort of trance. He sighed deeply, only to tempt himself out from over the brink of approaching sleep.

"She didn't even want the money," Matt said finally, as soft as he could so as not to disturb Foggy's hands which were working on the other side of his chest now, with one of them braced just under his chin.

"Of course she didn't," he replied and Matt frowned in response. "Oh c'mon Matt. You really thought she'd accept money from you?"

His mouth fell open and — "well… no. Actually… yes." 

"She loves you, buddy. Like, would take a bullet for you, or pay your rent while you fake your death kind of love. She might even love you even more than me." He pursed his lips and then tickled a makeup brush just below his collarbone, Matt choosing to stay silent for fear of the blubbering sound that might emerge from him should he open his mouth. "Granted," he continued, "I didn't think she'd ever actually think it was a good idea to know.. sleep with you or whatever, but I don't think she has a choice about the loving you part." Matt sensed how the corner of his lips tugged to one side before he bit it back and sighed as if he were annoyed. "That stuff sticks, and it's permanent. Trust me."

Matt swallowed _hard_. 

There was a lump in his throat the size of a fist and Foggy was far too close not to notice the moisture in his eyes. He cleared his throat best he could. "We've been over this Foggy, and it's not going to work." Matt finally stood, shaking off a shiver that was probably a mixture of cold and emotion. "You're not going to kiss me."

"I bet I can get pretty close if I put a few Benjamin's in your G-string."

"I don't wear a G-string." 

"Kinda looks like one to me."

"It's really not."

"I'll give Karen the memo."

Matt chuckled while he slipped his arms back into his hoodie. "That's funny."

Foggy smiled. "That's if she turns up. I mean, I don't know how I feel about Marci going on her own… I think that might be classed as overstepping a boundary or something like that?"

Matt froze for a moment trying to work out if Foggy was joking but when he found nothing in his voice to indicate that he was, he turned —

_"What?"_

"Yep," Foggy said, "last show tomorrow buddy. Best make it a good one!"

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. I hope you're all ready for this next one...... 😏🥵😂


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and welcome to the most ridiculous and self indulgent thing I've ever written, please laugh and enjoy 🤦😂

Karen would be lying if she said she hadn't pinched herself a few times. 

She thought; this is why they tell you that six or more hours of sleep a night is paramount — or why you shouldn't mix alcohol with pain meds, or why you shouldn't get romantically involved with mysterious vigilantes, especially ones with pretty lips and terrible track records for being assholes.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to let Marci down. And if she was being really honest she didn't  _ want _ to let Marci down, even if she was still angry... or confused, or whatever it was she was feeling right now. 

She got herself ready in a haze. Repeating the words in her head like a chant:

_ It's not for him it's not for him it's not for him. _

Because after all it was just a coincidence that she'd made sure she smelt nice, and that her dress was particularly soft and flared and short – " _ something fun, for a fun night _ ." Marci had said. That was all it was.

When she was ready she perched on the bed and waited for a text that read:

"Outside."

* * *

Expectations had not been high, but it was definitely a slightly more classy affair then she'd imagined. Unsurprisingly, there was already something going on stage that involved poles and several scantily clad girls in sparkly thongs and sky-scraper high heels. Karen watched them briefly as they crossed the room before losing interest.

At the bar she realised she'd developed a nervous tick; drumming her fingers against the leather of her clutch bag, which transferred to her glass when Marci handed her an absurd looking cocktail, garnished with what looked like her entire daily allowance of fruit. 

"What's this?" She pointed at glass, her voice already straining because the music was blaring so loudly.

How did Matt not hate this place?

"They've all got funny names in here," Marci said, pointing up at the menu that was lit behind the bar by an obnoxiously pink neon love heart. "I got you one that sounded like something you needed." Karen eyed her. "It's called.."multiple orgasms'. And don't ask," she shrugged, "'i don't know what's in it."

_ Rum and regret _ , judging by what she could smell, Karen thought. But she reluctantly took a sip, avoiding the slice of pineapple that was sticking three inches up from the rim of the glass. 

They walked over towards the stage where Marci pointed to a table near the front left corner which had a small folded triangle of paper on it that read: 'reserved.' 

"You  _ booked _ ?" Karen glared at her.

"Gotta be near the front, yeah," Marci said, smirking.

"Are you planning on getting involved?"

She shrugged and Karen felt her cheeks blush. She thought about asking her how Foggy felt about all of this before remembering he was entirely complicit. 

Gingerly, she slid into her seat and half stared into her drink – half stared out of the corner of her eye to where she knew there was an exit just right of the stage. "Didnt you have a thing with Daredevil?" Marci suddenly blurted from across the dark expanse of the table. Karen answered with her best confused stare, her lips busy wrapped around her straw. "You have some kind of relationship or something right?"

Karen chuckled, "not exactly a relationship. Saved my ass a couple of times though I guess."

"So like…" Marci picked the cocktail stick out of her Martini and waved it in the general direction of the stage before popping the olive into her mouth. "...you don't know who he is?"

"No," she replied. Too quick. "Of course I don't. He wears a mask. He's never —"

"— he's never taken it off?"

"No," she said. "Never."

"You've never thought of…"

Karen frowned, "thought of what?"

"Of.. you know… he's saved you before. More than once. Maybe he's like.. interested or something?" She bit her lip suggestively and Karen found herself fidgeting; her thighs sticking to the stupid leather of the stupid seat, slurping hopelessly at nothing but tired bits of fruit and slushy ice in the bottom of her glass.

"How could I possibly know that? He doesn't exactly hang around after. We don't meet for coffee and talk about it," she lied — her and Matt definitely did meet for coffee and talk about it sometimes.

"Okay, okay," she said finally, just as one of the scantily clad bikini girls appeared at her shoulder. 

"What team ladies?"

Karen gave Marci a look. "Team?"

"What team of course!" The girl replied, holding up four wristbands in one hand while balancing a tray of shots in the other. "We've red for the devil, yellow for our Harlem hero. Green for — "

"Iron Fist!" Marci screeched, clearly proud of herself.

"Green for you then?" She said.

Marci considered it for a moment. " _ Hmmmm _ . No. Yellow." 

"And you?" The girl directed an overly hospitable smile at Karen. 

"Erm…" she lingered too long to compensate and Marci rolled her eyes. "Red."

The girl gave her a pitying look. "Ohhh, you better watch with that one." She slid two shot glasses on to the table, one filled with something dubious and, wait… what a surprise — red. The other one coloured yellow. "I've seen girls —  _ and guys _ , blow their whole paycheck just waiting for him to smile."

Karen forced a chuckle. "Is that so."

"Uh huh." She smirked and bit her lip. "Complimentary shot for both of you. Don't forget to leave a review!" She winked, "and enjoy the show!" She sultered away, Marci's eyes tracking her behind as she moved on to the next table.

* * *

They must have been sitting there for a half hour at least, a mixture of nerves and curiosity congealing in Karen's stomach and sitting like a boulder. But Marci had inadvertently done a half decent job of keeping her distracted with a running commentary on; "how the hell did those girls get butts like that?" And "I don't know where she eats but it isn't the Burger Shack on 48th."

Karen agreed and she didn't know either.

A few minutes later, the stage went dark and dramatic music rumbled over the speakers. Marci slapped the table with her hands and the lights went low and red, flashing through to orange and then back to red again.

And just like that. There he was. Appearing in the shadows as a voice announced the first act over the tannoy.

Karen strained her eyes. 

She strained her eyes some more. And still, she just couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Matt  _ strutted _ on to the stage. A scattering of other dancers following in his wake, fluffing out whatever kind of exhibitionist car crash  _ this _ was supposed to be.

But the enthusiasm of the audience didn't lie, and several female voices screeched above the rest, including Marci's. By this point Karen was already hiding her face in her hands.

"Shit," Marci said, "he's totally going to come over." Karen whipped her head around to meet her gaze. "He's gonna come over….Karen he's…"

Marci was right.

Like Daredevil — _ the version of him that she knew _ — he was confident and sure footed. Only this particular outfit of his was  _ even tighter _ — if that were possible. The fabric was thin and the cheapness of it shined under the bright lights on stage. It was, she suspected, a fabric that was designed to be  _ ripped _ .

"What if he picks you..?" She whispered excitedly, "or  _ me?" _ Not taking her eyes off where Matt was stepping down off the stage, making his way along the front row of the audience and dragging his fingers lazily across each table.

_ "Picks _ me?" Karen said.

"To go up." 

Panic rose in her chest. "is that — is that part of the…. " Marci's eyes grew wide and when Karen checked back over her shoulder his blackened figure was already standing there.

"What's your name sweetheart?"

The words that immediately sprang to mind were:  _ What an absolute asshole. _

But Marci was scream-clapping something incoherent to her left, and there were hoards of envious sounding whispers to her right. The pressure was on.

"Karen," she sighed, "and Page," she added after a pause. 

He held out his hand like he was asking her to dance. "May I, Miss  _ Page _ ?" Karen  _ glared _ at him, her jaw wired shut, begging him not to, but as soon as she moved the audience  _ screamed _ and Marci immediately got her phone out and snapped a picture, giggling manically at what felt like her misfortune. 

She followed him up onto the stage, dragging her heels and he guided her into a chair that sat under one of the burning hot lights. Thankfully, it did a decent job of bleaching out most of the onlooking faces.

"Sit on your hands for me, Miss Page," he whispered.

And oh, she was so going to fucking kill him for this.

"You think you're funny?" She said, loudly enough for Matt but quietly enough for everyone else. Still, she did as he told her; tucking her fingertips under her thighs and folding her skirt in with them.

He grinned wide, ignoring her question — "Good." And despite everything, Karen felt her core light up in anticipation. "No touching. Just watch." 

With a signal signed with his fingers he hyped the crowd into a renewed bout of hyterstics and leaned forward to brace his arms on the back of the chair either side of her shoulders.

Above, she locked eyes with nothing; just blackness wrapped over the contours of his face and then deliciously pink lips stretched around glinting white teeth. 

Downwards was the sleek black 'v' shape of his torso and the strong unmoving trunks of his thighs spread wide, one planted either side of hers, which were now pressed together modestly.

Then he started moving —  _ really _ moving. And Karen didn't know whether she wanted to curl up into a ball and die or if the price of embarrassment was small if it meant having Matt's crotch this close to her face. 

He ran one of his hands down the side of his body – clearly playing for the crowd and she found herself almost too embarrassed to watch as his fingers moved over the ridges and bumps of muscle under his desperately thin shirt.

When he was low enough to pat the stage floor with his fingers, ghosting his mouth over her thigh as he went, he picked up a $20 bill and handed it to her.

"Seriously?" She mouthed, her hand seeking respite from where it had been losing blood under her thigh, suppressing a smile and replacing it with something appropriately stubborn. But her heart was beating too fast now, echoing something of the relentless pulse between her legs. "This better buy me a copier that doesn't jam," she said as she snatched the note and stuffed it roughly into his pocket. 

The crowd whooped again and Matt said low — "Open your legs." Kicking them open anyway, putting one of his thighs between hers.

She shot backwards, braced, her chest heaving. And he fucking  _ grinded _ against her; her big world narrowing down to nothing but the man in front of her.

Karen swore under her breath.

In the distance she could hear Marci screeching like her life depended on it.  _ "Take it off, take it off," _ or something to that effect. Matt's hands came up to fist the fabric of his slick black long sleeve, half moving, half dancing, his knuckles just a scant inch from her nose.

"Up here," he said, and her eyes dragged up away from the hypnotic gyration of his crotch below and up to his face and chest, plump lips and little chins rolls and the confidence of a fucking maniac.

He tugged hard and his shirt tore in two like wrapping paper. Down his arms it went, the remnants of it flying into the crowd. She hid her face for a second before her peeled her hands away and forced her watch.

He was mesmerizing. 

No.  _ Really _ .

Matt's hips flowed like nothing she'd ever seen, and the heat from his body alone was enough to redden her cheeks. He knelt down in front of her, the curve of his back, cat-like. And he started to crawl.

Karen laughed. Because yeah, this whole thing was ridiculous but dammit if he didn't look doing it.

And then just like that it was over. He held out his hand again and thanked her, her knees feeling more than a little weak as she stood.

When she got back to her table she felt like she'd been picked up by a tornado and dropped on her face — but, in a way that was somehow pleasant.  _ Very pleasant. _

She pinched herself again.

"Oh my god he's gonna —" Marci gawped.

Karen hadn't even realised he was still on stage, she was too busy gulping down the dregs of her cocktail in the hope of returning moisture to her mouth. 

But she watched, frozen as he faced away from the crowd and did that listening glance over his shoulder. He grabbed a handful of fabric at his crotch and pulled.

Everything came off. 

_ Everything _ .

Then the lights went black.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click next for gratuitous smut 👀


	5. Chapter 5

Marci was understandably suspicious of the timing when the next act started and Karen decided that she absolutely _needed_ a minute or two to herself.

Getting backstage was easy. She was good at slipping under people's radars when she needed to and it didn't take much to find out where he'd be. Somewhere private, she thought, somewhere away from heavy electronic buzz of lights and music.

When she found the door, she thought it looked more like an entrance to a cupboard than a dressing room, but she knew it was his because somebody had drawn little red devil horns on the sign that hung over the handle. She pushed it open to find him dressed again now, still wearing his mask but with loose sweats covering everything else. "Did you like it?" He asked, turning to her.

She lunged forward and fisted her hands into the slack of his sweater before he could get another word in. "I liked." She kissed him again, deeper, prying his mouth open, forcing him backwards until he bumped into something. His hand sprung out to orientate himself and Karen's came up to wrap around his shoulders. She let her weight arch into him in the hope that he would catch her.

There really wasn't all that much space to maneuver. The room was tiny. There was a dressing table and a mirror, then a chair and an array of other stuff; mops and buckets and filing cabinets. She was pretty sure now that they were actually in a cupboard.

But as Matt breathed out her name — panting and nearly stumbling over the chair that was directly behind him, she found herself forgetting her surroundings entirely. He turned her by her waist so that she was forced to shift upwards onto the table; more stuff falling onto the floor with a clatter that she didn't care much about. The thumping music would do a good job of hiding their noise.

"Sit," he commanded. Karen's back ended up against a mirror as he made easy work of her conveniently short dress, smoothing his hands over her hips. "I think there's something I need to finish," he smirked, nosing and pressing into her.

As her underwear landed on the floor she thought about protesting that they were technically still in public. The door was right opposite where they were sitting, and worse, it wasn't even fully closed — she _really_ didn't feel like being interrupted again.

But then, she thought, this was Matt. This was: 'hear a pin drop from two blocks away Matt'. And when he finally surrounded her with his entire mouth and _groaned_ , like he was thankful — satiated. The last of her inhibitions left her anyway.

Hurriedly, she pulled off his mask so she could indulge in running her fingers through the thick of his hair. She gave a handful of it a little tug, like he might like the pain. He hissed and smiled as he alternated between soft kisses and deep gorging movements of his tongue, sucking in her lips and making lazy circles over her clit that made her thighs quiver.

There was no doubt about it. That mouth of his was made for pleasure. 

"God, you taste good." He said it like he meant it, his hand sliding down the plane of her inner thigh and disappearing under his chin, one finger slipping inside of her, and then another. 

The contrast of his rough knuckles and the slick heat of his mouth was _perfection_. 

She moaned and inhaled; holding her breath before blurting out shakily: "shit _,_ Matt – oh God, fuck — " she panted _,"shit._ " 

She thought she heard him chuckle, something cocky that he was going to tease her about later. But she was already coming. Warmth uncoiling in her belly and clenching around his fingers as she rode it out against his face.

When she looked down he was kissing her still, his hair looking like a lost cause. "Can that be my new favourite thing?" He asked.

Karen took a breath before she answered. "If you insist," she said with her eyes still closed, pulling at his waist band as he stood before letting it go so that it slapped the firm skin of his stomach.

"Not here," he said, his face unapologetically messy with her arousal. "You deserve my full attention, Karen. In my bed," he said, kissing her. "No distractions." It was an inviting thought, sure. But —

"What if something happens. Something always... And then we can't — "

"Nothings going to happen. I promise."

"Please," she pulled him back and ran her hand over the bulge in his pants _,"please,"_ she said again, watching his face melt into pure bliss at the contact, even through two layers of fabric.

"Don't do that." He clenched his jaw.

Karen eyed him. "Do what?" 

His face turned serious."Beg."

Karen felt herself smile, wicked wide and then she studied him; close under the light that was coming from behind her, yellowish in hue, enough to paint his lips a dark shade of pink and make his eyes look treacle-black and daring.

"Please Matt," she purred, feeling in control now, leaning forward to pinch his ear lobe between her teeth. Noticing how the shudder it created forced him to close his eyes — one more thing she was discovering she could do to that oh so sensitive body of his. "I'm on the pill," she said, offering him a thread of sensible reasoning. "We could just…." She slid her hand up under his sweater, feeling each one of his abs tensing at her touch as her voice turned low and breathy. "Fuck me, Matt," she breathed, " _please_. Here. I —"

 _"— Jesus_ Karen," he pressed his mouth into hers and then pulled away. "You should have been a lawyer."

She bit her lip and smiled, "do I make a compelling case?"

"You do." 

He stripped his sweater. Dumped it on the floor. Then he took a second to drag the chair a few feet backwards and jammed the back of it under the door handle.

When he returned, shedding his sweats and boxers, they kissed for a bit while he stood between her knees, Karen running her hands down his back, her fingers ghosting lightly down the curve of it as her eyes traced the elegant long lines of his torso, feeling for that pert, fine little ass of his.

All the better for holding on to, she thought.

"Your heart rate goes up when you look at it," she felt him smile as he spoke and she tipped her head back to let him kiss at her neck. 

"Doesn't everyone's?"

"Some," Matt said, licking at her pulse point, "but I only care about yours."

Karen rolled her eyes and moaned.

_Less talking, more fucking Murdock._

"God. Matt, please will you just —" she took his cock in her hand — palmed it and pushed it down, pushed him into her desperately. His face softened and then crinkled up and he breathed out an open mouthed sound as the top of his head bumped the mirror at her back _. "Karen."_

"Yes — _"_ she moaned again, _"yes." Finallyfinallyfinally._

And now apparently Matt; the champion of knowing exactly where to put his hands, had no idea where to put them. 

"Here," she panted, moving one to her chest, pulling her strap down as he put his mouth there too, swiping his tongue over her nipple and sucking. "You feel so good." She met one his thrusts with her hips and he groaned, gritting his teeth a little. It reminded her of how she felt when she watched him on the streets. Hearing his hot breath on her shoulder and determined grunts of pained-pleasure in her ear. She craved it. For the animal in him to mark, and claim and ruin her.

She choked out — _"more. Matt. Give it to me."_

The front of his thighs met the table edge and slammed the inside of hers, his hands raking through her hair and _pulling._

Soon her voice turned into a whimper — "yes." 

_A sob. "Yes. Like that like that like that."_

She came so hard her vision went funny. There was just enough of it left for her to watch him lose it too, the table creaking under the force of his hips until they eventually slowed to a stop and he rested, breathless, with his head pressed into the crook of her shoulder.

After, they were still for a while. He planted kisses on her forehead and the bridge of her nose with tenderness, feeling like they were a tangle of sweaty limbs molding around each other.

"Matt?" Karen said languidly.

"Mm-hm?"

"Pinch me."

Surprisingly, he did actually pinch her. Somewhere conveniently near his hand on the side of her butt. "Still here?" He asked.

She nodded. "You'll still come back," he said, "to my place? After.."

Karen bit her lip and nodded. "Yes."

"Good.." he said needily, "good." 

"Shit," Karen sighed, with no idea how much time had passed since she'd been here. "I've erm… I've left Marci out front. She'll be drinking the bar dry. I should probably…"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure. I should probably.. get ready too."

"Sure," Karen nodded but Matt was still holding her thighs and they were so bunched up that suddenly the logistics of getting out of this became more complicated than either of their chemical flooded brains could comprehend.

"Erm. I'm just gonna..." 

"Yeah," Karen burst into laughter and Matt maneuvered somehow, ungracefully.

"Here," he passed her a packet of baby wipes. Because of course Matt had baby wipes on hand. They cleaned up in a weird kind of silence, and Karen gave him an overly shy peck on the cheek before heading for the door.

"I'll see you soon," she said and she couldn't help but chuckle at how different he was now, like she'd flipped a switch in him; all puppy eyes and rosy cheeks. Less devil and more Matt. "Your mask," she reminded him just before she closed the door.

"Oh. Yeah," he slipped it on. "Thanks."

"Okay," she bit her lip, "bye, Matt."

"Bye. Karen." He said softly.

* * *

Luckily for Marci — and not so luckily for Karen, Foggy had made an appearance in her absence. When she returned to the table he was wearing a pair of tacky plastic devil horns and his face was half buried in his palms as Karen caught Marci stuffing a dollar bill into Budget-Luke Cage's bright yellow undies.

"Page! Where you been!" She hollered the way a woman who was on at least her fifth or sixth Martini might hollar. Foggy gave Karen an abject look of horror and Marci's whole face suddenly lit up. "Oh my God," she gushed, _"you didn't."_

Foggy's eyes widened too and he looked her up and down as Karen's paranoia drove her to check whether her hair was still feeling inappropriately ruffled.

"I didn't what?"

"Did Mr Buns of Hell's Kitchen give you a good seeing to?"

Foggy tipped his head back and _cackled,_ and Karen crossed her arms — " _What?_ No," she said, _"no."_ She glared at Foggy. "I got his number, though. That's _all."_

 _"Okay…"_ Marci smirked. "Sure."

Foggy echoed her. "Yeah _Karen. Surreeeeeee,"_

She landed back into her seat and he gave her a literal pat on the back. "Whiskey neat?" He asked, smiling.

"If you're buying," she said, hiding her cheeks in her hair and slumping back to cast her eyes over the stage.

"Ah well the night is young K," Foggy said, "and no offense but..." he wiggled his eyebrows, "..it looks like you're gonna need it."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who read this car crash. I had fun driving 😂😂


End file.
